To Hell and Back
by Scarlet Scully
Summary: It is easy to go down into hell night and day... Virgil. BB, Angst, Boothcentric. I don't own these characters I'm just borrowing them for a while. Please don't sue. Apologies in advance for marking this complete.
1. Chapter 1

_**To Hell and Back**_

_Summary: _"It is easy to go down into Hell; night and day, the gates of dark Death stand wide; but to climb back again, to retrace one's steps to the upper air - there's the rub, the task." - _Virgil, from Aenid. BB, Angst, Boothcentric. Rated T to be safe. I don't own these characters. I'm just borrowing them for a while. Please don't sue._

_A/N: So I've become so Bones deprived that I've decided to start another fic. For those of you that have read my other work in this fandom (Remember When and If Only), I've haven't abandoned the third installment in that series. It's just taking a little more to get it written with this idea warring with that story in my head. I hope that by writing this, I will make room for that again. In the mean time, I hope you will enjoy my latest foray into the Bones universe. Please read and review - all comments are welcome. Scarlet._

_**Chapter One - **_

Seeley Booth hesitated before finally knocking on his partner's door. Belatedly, he realized that he should've called before stopping by, but he knew that he would have come regardless of whether it was a good time or not. He was running out of time and he couldn't put this conversation off for much longer.

He knocked again, wondering if he might be waking her and again wishing that he had summoned up the courage to call her before he had come. He hadn't because he had been putting this off for as long as he could - avoiding facing this reality for as long as possible. Now, the day - or the night - had come for him to share his reality with Bones and he couldn't help but feel the trepidation build within him as he anticipated their upcoming conversation. She wasn't going to be happy - especially because he had kept this from her for so long. He wasn't even sure if she would understand or ever forgive him.

Finally, he heard the scrape of metal and the door opened. Bones filled the opening, clad in a simple t-shirt and jeans and he caught himself drinking in the vision of her, storing it away for another time. His eyes lingered on her breasts, admiring how they pushed up against the soft cotton of her white shirt, finally traveling to her waist and out to the slight flare of her hips. Mentally, he shook himself and tried not to think about what he had just caught himself doing. He wasn't overly superstitious, but he didn't like the feeling that settled in his stomach when he realized that he was unconsciously filing all of these little moments away. There was clearly something about this mission that didn't sit well with his subconscious and he hoped it was only the prolonged absence he was about to experience that was filling his gut with dread.

"Booth, what are you doing here?" Her question focused his attention back to her face.

"You know, Bones, I think I will come in. Thanks for asking," he smiled as he reminded her of her chronic lack of social skills.

She tucked her hair behind her ear and turned aside, leaving him a pathway into her home. He surveyed the room as he entered, noticing the glow of her laptop on the desk and the soft music that filled the quiet room.

"You were writing, Bones? Sorry for interrupting."

"It's okay. I was at an impasse anyway. Is there a case?"

He was reminded of all the other times that he had tried to distract her and had failed to do so for very long - if at all. His time had come and he couldn't put it off any longer.

"No, Bones, we don't have a case," he began. "I need to talk to you."

"We're talking," she answered and he found her literalness frustrating.

"Bones, I need to talk to you about something important. That's why I'm here at ten o'clock at night."

"Oh, well, what do you want to want to talk to me about," she asked, shifting her weight and crossing her arms across her chest.

His nerves and the weight of what he was about to discuss caused his frustration to surge within him. He took a couple of steps further into her living room and ran his fingers through his dark hair.

"Geez, Bones, this isn't how it works. How about 'Come in, Booth Want a beer or a glass of wine?' This isn't exactly easy."

She walked up behind him and he turned to face her. Her hand fell on his arm and he took a deep breath. There was no more time for delay.

"A few weeks ago, I accepted an assignment…"

"So there is a case," she interrupted him before he could continue.

"Bones, please, just let me finish." He ran his hand through his hair again. "I was, uh, recruited because of my background and my particular skill set, so I took it." He paused for a beat before continuing. "It's an undercover assignment and I have to leave the day after tomorrow."

"What? You're leaving to work undercover? For how long?"

"Well, that's just it. I don't know. Undercover doesn't usually work that way."

"Am I going, too? I'm going to kill Dr. Goodman if he authorized this without talking to me first."

He laughed half-heartedly. "Bones, there is no way you could ever pull off an undercover assignment. I mean, forget about your notoriety as an author - I've never seen you convincingly lie, even if it's about something small." He sobered slightly. "Besides, I would never sign you up for something like this without talking to you about it first."

He dropped his hand to her shoulder and then walked past her and sat on the couch. "I want you to keep an eye on Parker for me. I'm going to tell Rebecca that I'm being transferred to the Michigan bureau. I don't want her to worry. I need you to back me up on that and then in a couple of months, tell her that I've been assigned a case overseas - something related to Homeland security or something like that."

She dropped to the couch beside him. "You're going to be gone for a while, aren't you?"

"Yeah," he answered, clasping his hands together in front of him and hanging his head. "It's more of a deep cover assignment."

"But, what about Parker and… what is it that's so important that it could take you away from him?"

"Bones, I can't tell you about any of that. I just came to… well, I would feel better if I knew that you were keeping an eye on Parker, too. Rebecca's a good mom, but I'm not going to be here to help her and I trust you."

"Of course, Booth."

Her hand covered the ball of his hands and he opened them, sliding hers between his and then squeezed gently. The warmth of her hand and the heat of her body next to him soothed him and he tried not to think that this would be the last time that he would sit and share her warmth.

_Who am I kidding? I haven't even begun to feel her warmth and now I might never have the chance._

He shook his head, chasing the negative thought from his mind. He couldn't begin an undercover assignment - any assignment, really - thinking that he wasn't going to make it to see it completed. He lived with danger every day and this wasn't going to be any different. Well, except that he would be facing these next challenges alone. He had gotten kind of used to having his Bones at his side.

"So, you can't tell me anything? How do I know if you're okay or when you're coming back or…"

"Well, you don't, but I might be able to call or send you an email or something like that, but not very often. Don't change any of your numbers, okay?"

"Of course. Booth?" she paused and he waited patiently for her to continue, the silence stretching between them. "Are you scared?"

_Yes._

"What? No, of course not." He sat up straighter and then eased back against the couch cushions, trying to evoke an air of ease that he hadn't felt for several days now.

"So," she drew the word out as she so often did, "I don't have to worry then. Right?"

He nodded his head and she sat back as well. Her shoulder and arm rested against his and they sat quietly, with nothing between them and the music floating around them. A few songs played and then he felt her head drop to his shoulder. Time stretched longer still and he began to think that she might have fallen asleep. Twisting slightly, he peered at her face and was surprised to find her bright eyes staring back at him.

"Booth," her voice was husky when she spoke and it reminded him of the few times in the past that he had had the pleasure of waking her. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'm going to miss you, too."

His own voice rasped with emotion as he answered and for the life of him he couldn't remember why he had kept those emotions tucked away. He shifted again until he was sitting sideways on the couch, facing her. She sat up and the movement caused her hair to fall across her face. He tucked it behind her ear. His finger lingered and traced the line of her jaw. He watched her throat muscles work as she swallowed noticeably. Cupping the curve of her cheek, he tipped his head until his lips were just a breath away from hers. He longed to taste her like a dying man thirsted for a life-saving taste of water.

"We shouldn't do this."

_Why did I just say that?_

"We shouldn't?"

If circumstances were different, he might find it amusing that she still found a way to argue with him, even now.

"No, we shouldn't. I'm leaving and that's the only reason why we want to."

His lips were still almost touching hers and he was surprised that he had managed to speak as much as he had without completing the act that he had stopped for some insane reason.

"It is?"

"Isn't it?"

"No, it isn't. That's just the reason why we can't wait any longer."

He didn't need any further encouragement or arguments. After all, all of her arguments were only trying to convince him of doing exactly what he wanted to do. Slowly, he closed the space that remained between them - space that he had let linger between them for far too long.

_A/N: A start... please let me know what you think so far? Scarlet._


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Here's the latest chapter. I can't promise that I will be able to keep up the posting rate of a chapter a day, but I didn't think I should hold back just because I didn't want to mislead anyone. Thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. I hope you enjoy this latest installment. Scarlet._

_**Chapter Two - **_

Temperance Brennan glanced up from her computer at the light tapping that sounded on the glass of her office door. She smiled at her friend, silently granting her the entrance that she had requested. Angela had developed this new habit of knocking before entering her office and she was sure that it had come from her terrible mood swings as of late. In fact, she had noticed that everyone at the Jeffersonian had seemed to tiptoe around her these days. A fact that, once she had noticed it, only served to annoy her further. Taking a deep breath, she resolved to be a little nicer to her coworkers.

"Hey, Ange, what's up?"

"Nothing, sweetie," Angela answered, seating herself in the chair opposite her desk. "I was just wondering what you were doing for lunch."

"Oh, I don't know. I'll probably just grab a sandwich and eat it here."

"Come on, Brenn, you have to leave this office from time to time and no, going home to sleep and change doesn't count. Why don't we go to the diner - or I know - we'll go to Wong Foo's. Sid'll fix you up something great."

At the mention of Wong Foo's, Temperance felt tears spring to her eyes. "I don't think I can go there, Ange. It's too soon."

"Okay, sweetie, we'll go somewhere else, but we're definitely going somewhere. We need to talk or should I say that you need to talk? Booth's been gone for over three weeks and you haven't even so much as mentioned his name. Let alone admit that you miss him."

Temperance agreed with her friend, knowing that she couldn't put off their conversation much longer. Taking a few minutes to save the files she had been working on, she tidied up her desk and then pulled on her jacket to ward off the early autumn chill. They walked in silence to the diner just a few blocks from the Jeffersonian, both seeming lost in their own thoughts.

Seated at a booth, their meals ordered, they sat in silence and Temperance wondered where and how to begin. Should she tell Angela about spending the weekend with Booth before he left? Should she tell her about how he had made love to her like no man had ever done before? Should she tell her about the empty hole that he made in her heart when she was sure that there wasn't any room for any more holes?

"I still can't believe that he left," Angela said, apparently unable to wait for Temperance to speak any longer.

"He had to - it's his job," Temperance answered, wishing that Angela hadn't decided to begin with this. She was uncomfortable lying to her friend, and she doubted that sharing the little information that she had would compromise Booth's mission in any way, but she would honour his wishes all the same.

"I understand that he was transferred, but couldn't he have turned down the transfer? His whole life is here in DC."

This was the hole in Booth's story that Temperance had spotted immediately. Booth would never leave Parker and move miles away for the sake of a simple promotion. Of course, he had left him now, but there was more at stake here. What exactly, she didn't know, but she knew there was more to his undercover story than what he had told her.

Angela was looking at her, expecting some sort of response. She knew that she had to make everyone believe that she agreed with his move. It would make them question Booth's decision even less. "He was the best man for the job. He had to take it. Besides, if he wasn't interested, he wouldn't have applied, right?"

"I guess," she agreed hesitantly. "I still wish that he had turned it down."

"So do I, Ange."

"Oh, sweetie, you must miss him so much," Angela covered her hand with her own. "I miss him and I didn't nearly spend as much time with him as you did."

"I do miss him. It's not rational. He's only been gone three weeks and we've gone longer without seeing each other, but I miss him already. I think I started to miss him the day that he left."

"Why don't you call him? Tell him."

"I… I can't. He's working and…"

"And what? You don't answer the phone at work. Just call him. I'm sure he'd be happy to hear from you."

This was an unexpected outcome of their conversation. Angela couldn't truly help her with her feelings for Booth because she couldn't fully understand why they were separated. Now she really doubted that she should tell her about their weekend together.

"We said our good-bye's already, Ange. What would be the point of me calling him now?"

"He's your friend, Brenn. You don't just write off friends because they've moved a few miles away. Have you ever heard of the internet or an airplane? Hell, in a pinch, I'm sure even a car would do."

"Very funny. Okay, you win. Maybe I'll call him."

She knew that she had to give in to her friend. Angela was nothing if not persistent and would probably try to call Booth herself if she failed to convince Temperance to call. She thought of hearing the sound of his voice again, if only through phone lines, and smiled. It felt like her first smile in weeks and she realized that it probably was. Nothing had changed and she was still worried about Booth and missed him, but she had to admit that it felt better having finally admitted it.

Returning to her office, Temperance tried to focus on her work. She couldn't seem to concentrate though, and found herself thinking instead of the sound of Booth's voice. Finally, ashamed that she needed to give in to the temptation, she dialed his home number even though she knew that he wouldn't answer.

"This is Seeley Booth. I'm not available right now. Leave a message after the tone."

She hung up without leaving a message. He wouldn't hear it anyway. She felt her face heat with her blush as she recognized how irrational her actions had been. She had just called his voicemail for the sole purpose of hearing the sound of his voice. She didn't do those kind of things.

The rest of the day passed slowly for Temperance, her mind filled with the memory of Booth's voice. That memory invoked memories of his breath in her ear as he whispered to her. His remembered whispers reminded her of the feel of his hands on her and the feel of him under her hands. These memories distracted her throughout the day and it wasn't until she was walking to her car that her mind cleared for an instant. It was in that moment of clarity that the realization came to her. Her period was three days late.

_A/N: Sorry for the bit of the cliffhanger, but it seemed an appropriate spot to end the chapter. Please review. Scarlet._


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thank you for reading and reviewing so far. I hope that I can manage to keep you interested for a little bit longer. Further in this chapter, there is text from email correspondence. I decided to use italics to separate that text from all of the rest of the text and dialogue. I hope it is clearer in the fic than my explanation has been. Disclaimers, etc, in the first part. And now, on with the show…_

_**Chapter Three - **_

Seeley Booth deleted the email once he had read its contents enough to have committed the important details to memory. A copy had already been forwarded to a personal email account that he had set up, but he didn't access that account from his office computer. He didn't want to leave an electronic trace - he didn't want anyone to think that he had any links to his past. Not that he could really consider his life in DC as his past. After all, he had only left it a few short weeks ago. A few short weeks that seemed like a lifetime.

It had been three weeks since he had spent that last day with Parker and it felt like a lifetime. Every day he questioned his decision to cut all of his ties with his past. His cover would have allowed him to still contact his son, but he chose not to. The road up ahead was a dangerous one and he wouldn't risk involving Parker in any of it.

As much as his free waking moments were often filled with memories of his son, his nights were spent dreaming of Bones. The last weekend that he had spent with her had only served to tease him with the promise of what could be. He spent his days wishing he could hold his son and his nights longing for the feel of her in his arms. Needless to say, his first weeks away from home had left him terribly homesick.

It didn't help that his daily work did little to distract him. The Michigan office of Homeland Security offered little beyond the mundane pushing of papers to hold his interest. In reality, his new position felt like a demotion even though it was a promotion on paper. He had a few agents working under him, but he had never wanted to move up in the ranks of the bureau in that way. Still, the fact that his new position was actually a promotion had helped with his cover as well.

Bill Wilder had first contacted him just over six months earlier. He had run into him in DC when Wilder had been there as part of an assignment. They had served together in Iraq and he had joined the bureau after his tour of duty had been completed, too. Booth had taken his former comrade to Wong Foo's for dinner and drinks to catch up.

There had been something in that initial conversation that had sounded warning bells in the back of his mind. As he looked back on that night, he couldn't put his finger on what Bill had said that had set his instincts on high alert - it had been more of a general feeling to the conversation. The direction of Bill's conversation had reminded him of conversations that he had led with suspects and witnesses - leading them along a seemingly random line of discussion in order to get a general feel for them. Booth had picked up on the tactic early enough to lead Wilder to believe that they shared many of the same opinions. That night had led to a few more conversations and several veiled emails until he had been convinced that Wilder was a part of something big - something big that wasn't something good. Sharing that belief with Cullen had set the wheels in motion that had brought him to Michigan.

As far as Booth knew, Cullen was the only person other than himself aware of his undercover assignment. Bones knew that he was undercover, but that was the extent of her knowledge. Wilder's position in the FBI and his use of that position towards achieving his own means had dictated that they maintain the utmost of secrecy with respect to his assignment. As Booth had continued to dig into the information he had gleaned from Wilder, he had realized that Wilder was just a small part of a much larger machine. A machine that stretched into the FBI ranks and he planned to find out just how far. The ground work that he had instinctually laid six months ago had opened the doors to him much more quickly than it would normally have taken to penetrate an organization like this. Tonight, he was heading to a nearby bar with Wilder to meet a few of his 'friends'.

It hadn't taken much more than that first meeting and a few emails for Booth to determine that Wilder was a mid-level member of a radical anti-terrorist group that referred to themselves as 'The Patriots'. With no hard evidence to back up his hunch, he had continued to dig, discovering more of the acts of 'peace-making' that they had inflicted on the country and he realized that taking down Wilder wouldn't be enough. As he had made that realization, he had also recognized that the man best suited to take down this group had been no other than himself. He had begun the investigation that had taken him away from his home and his family and his friends. So if he felt a little homesick, he only had himself to blame.

As he often did when he questioned his decision to leave his home, he thought of all of the terrible things that these men had already committed. The image of the small foot of Afshan Kaur was etched in his mind, ready for him to recall whenever he needed it. The Patriots had determined that Afshan's father's grocery store was a meeting place for a local Taliban group and had burned it to the ground. The entire Kaur family had been lost in that fire - they had been sleeping in the apartment above the store. Afshan had been close to escaping the burning building when the ceiling had given in and collapsed on him. His blistered foot protruding from the rubble had haunted his dreams for weeks after he had come across the case file that had included that image. When he had met with Cullen, the groundwork had ben laid for him to penetrate the group. When he had discovered the Kaur case file, his conviction to complete the mission had been born.

Temperance sipped her coffee as she powered up her computer. It was still early and the lab was quiet and she longed for the same peace within her mind. She had been in complete turmoil since her realization of the day before and she didn't know how to put her mind at rest. She wished that she could talk to someone, but knew that there was no one she could talk to - Angela would probably drive to Detroit and drag Booth back to DC if she knew. Not that anyone could really know anything at this point. Her period was late, but she hadn't been able to make herself stop to pick up a test to confirm her suspicions. She wasn't ready for that yet.

She scanned her email in an effort to refocus her thoughts. As she quickly sorted the messages into categories and deleted those that were from unknown senders, she hesitated with the one from "Tony & Roxie". She never opened email unless it was from someone she knew - there were too many viruses and she had too much valuable work on her computer to risk it. Still, the more she thought about it, the more she was sure that this message was from Booth. No one else knew their undercover names in Vegas and it seemed like too much of a coincidence. Satisfied that there was enough evidence to justify her opening the message, she took another sip of her coffee and opened it - hoping that she wouldn't be disappointed.

_Hi Roxie,_

_I know it's only been a few weeks, but I had to write to tell you that I miss you. I'm okay and I miss you. I guess that's why I'm sending this, but I feel like there should be more. There probably should be, but it's all I have for now. Please tell my little man that I miss him, too. And tell him that I love him._

_Tony_

Temperance smiled as a tear slipped from her eye. She read Booth's message again and again, not wanting to break this small connection that she had with him. She wanted to save it, but knew that she shouldn't. It wasn't very incriminating, but she knew that it would become something more if she saved it and it was discovered later. As she read it again, she was surprised to find that, seemingly of its own accord, her hand had moved the mouse until the cursor hovered over the "reply" button. Tapping quickly on the button, she began to type.

_Tony,_

_I am so happy to hear from you. I've been worried about you and I've missed you, too. I'll be sure to pass on your message and I'll give your little man a hug from you, too._

_I wish you were here. I shouldn't say it, but I do. I have a problem and I don't have anyone to talk to about it except you. No one else will understand why I can't tell you._

She took a deep breath and wiped at the tear that had stubbornly traced a line down her cheek.

_I might be pregnant, Booth. How can I deal with this without you? How can I decide if I'm going to have your baby if you're not here? How can I have a baby without you here to help me? How can I have your baby if you're gone? How can I not have your baby if you're gone?_

Another tear chased after the first until her cheeks were soon sticky and she had abandoned her efforts at wiping them away. She stared at her words on the screen as the cursor blinked back at her calmly - questioning, accusing. Even as she had typed the words, she knew that she couldn't send them to him. It wasn't fair - he couldn't change the fact that he couldn't be with her and he had enough to deal with without having to worry about her. She placed a finger on the delete key and watched as her confession disappeared, one letter at a time. Reading his message one last time, she erased it as well. A few random keystrokes and Booth was out of her life again.

Later that night, she started her period. She cried herself to sleep, trying to believe her assertions that it was for the best.

_A/N: I decided to merge two chapters this time since they were both on the shorter side and I hadn't resolved my little cliffhanger at the end of what would have been the first post. I hope the switch of perspective worked without the chapter break. Please send me your thoughts - positive and negative feedback are both welcome. Constructive criticism would be highly valued. Scarlet._


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Okay, so I might have fooled a few people into thinking that this was "one of those" stories. It's not and I hope that's okay with everyone who has been reading so far. Many thanks to everyone who has read this far and many more to those who have also taken the time to let me know what they think. Disclaimers, etc. in the beginning. In short, I own nothing and don't claim to. Please don't sue._

_**Chapter Four - **_

Booth had been away from his home for almost three months now. He had risked sending Bones two emails in that time frame, but otherwise hadn't had contact with anyone from his other life. The lack of contact meant that he thought less about those people that he had left behind, too, allowing him the focus to complete his task and return to them more quickly. At least that was what he told himself.

He was moving quickly into the Patriots' ranks. Bill Wilder had introduced him to a couple of men, who in turn had introduced him to a couple of other members. With each meeting, he could sense the tests that they were putting him through. With each test, he could see in their eyes that he had passed. In fact, he found that it wasn't that difficult to portray himself as the man that they wanted to prove him to be.

The majority of the Patriots were former soldiers who were dissatisfied with how the government was waging its war on terror. They had risked their lives and lost their friends in the field of battle and yet the government continued to follow the same course that it always had. Risking more lives and losing more friends and not seeming to affect any change. He could sympathize with them; he understood where they were coming from. It wasn't much of a leap for him to pretend that he agreed with their position; for him to pretend that he agreed that it was time to take matters into their own hands.

As much as he was making progress with his mission, he wasn't. He had probably been introduced to nearly thirty members of the Patriots organization, but he had yet to have been made privy to any of their plans and he still didn't know who the true leaders were. To be completely honest, he couldn't prove that any of the men that he had met were even members of the group at all. They didn't exactly introduce themselves as Patriot Member #164. Of course, he couldn't dismiss the fact that each person he had met had fit the Patriot profile perfectly.

"Hey, Booth," Wilder slapped him on the shoulder and slid onto the bar stool next to him.

"Hey, Wilder. Doug didn't tell me that you were coming tonight, too."

Booth took a long draw from his beer, barely letting a mouthful past his lips. He had learned to drink without drinking years ago when he would try to keep his wits about him during all-night poker games. He had refined the art over the past few months. A night rarely passed without him meeting someone in a bar or a restaurant and his mind and his liver couldn't handle the cloud of too much alcohol.

Wilder ordered a beer and Doug arrived soon after. Doug was a small man, an inch or two shy of six feet and lean. Some might mistake him for being skinny, but Booth had felt the strength in his handshake and knew that there was power hidden beneath the man's medium-sized shirts. Like Wilder, Doug still wore his hair shorn in a military style, as did most of the men that he had met over the past few weeks. Booth had jokingly believed that all they were waiting for was for him to shave his head and then he would finally be considered one of them.

At Wilder's suggestion, they moved to an isolated booth and ordered something to eat. Booth picked at the greasy pub fare and thought wistfully of Wong Foo's. He had recently increased his daily workouts to both counteract and prepare for the effects of his new lifestyle on his conditioning.

"So, Booth, Wilder says that you were a sniper when you were overseas."

He felt the hair at the nape of his neck stand up. Cautious of where this conversation was headed, he answered: "Yeah."

"Were you any good?"

_I was too good._

The thought came instantly to his mind and he pushed it away. This was one of the reasons why he was here. "I was okay," he answered noncommittally.

"He's being modest, Doug," Wilder chimed in. "I never saw him miss a mark."

"Is that true?" Doug fixed his dull, brown eyes on him.

"I never missed a shot that I took. There were times when I didn't have a shot, but if I took one, I made it."

The men ate in silence after that statement, lost in their thoughts, pretending to be lost in the hockey game broadcast on the several televisions scattered throughout the bar. He sensed the undercurrents in the air around them and knew that he was on the edge of breaking through. He was excited and scared at the same time. Excited to be so close to getting into the true depths of his mission. Scared of the things that he would have to do before his mission was completed.

"I'm going to hit the john," Booth stood up to leave. "Either of you guys want me to grab you a beer on the way back?"

Booth left the men, giving them the opportunity to discuss their thoughts. He had recognized the pivotal moment and had hesitated for barely an instant before deciding to give the men the chance that they needed. Returning to the booth with a fresh beer for each of them, their conversation seemed to follow the random pattern of general thought process. Seemed to, but Booth recognized the minor corrections that Doug made whenever their talk seemed to veer off course.

"Hey, Booth, have you seen any of the Abdi file?" Wilder asked. Booth shook his head in answer and the older man continued: "We've been watching him for a few years now. His home is a stopover for several known terrorists. They enter the country here, from Canada and stay with him for a time… sometimes for a couple of days, sometimes for a couple of weeks. Then, from here they can fly anywhere in the country without having to worry about the added security of international flights. Homeland security loses track of them after that. I've been trying to get the bureau to bring him in for months now."

"Well, why haven't we?" Booth asked, already knowing what the answer to his question would be.

"Lack of evidence. The DA always says that, at best, the evidence we have is circumstantial and there's no way they'll prosecute. So we leave him be. I figure it's better to not tip him off to our surveillance."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

"The thing is," Doug interjected, "while you guys are stuck chasing after proof this asshole is harboring terrorists."

"The last 'cousin' that visited ended up in Los Angeles," Wilder added. "LA bomb squad ended up diffusing a bomb in a Jeep that he had rented just a few days earlier. If the professor that had rented it hadn't had problems with the air conditioning, they might not have even found it."

"You know, Booth," Doug said, "he'd make a pretty easy mark. He's a used car dealer on the wrong side of the city. I'm sure he has a few upset customers. They wouldn't even question it."

Booth took a long drink from his bottle, allowing the cold liquid to fill his mouth and cool his throat. He didn't worry that the alcohol might dull his perception; their conversation had left him stone sober.

"This is exactly the kind of guy that Jim would love to see gone from this world."

_So this really is it?_

Every instinct in Booth was on high alert. He had been finished with exactly what these men were asking him to do, but he had known that this was one of the risks he was taking by taking this assignment. This was his value - especially to an organization like the Patriots.

"When do I get to meet Jim, anyway?"

The question had been a stalling tactic, but it was also a way of letting his 'friends' know his price. If he was going to put himself on the line, he expected to be rewarded in some way. Of course, if he was truly a 'Patriot' then the results of the action would be reward enough, but these men didn't seem to pick up on that fact.

"Well," Doug answered, "if you want to help us with this project, you'll get to meet him. Jim will be coordinating it all."

"Just name the time and place, boys, and I'll be there." Booth stood and drained the last of his beer. "But for tonight - I gotta go. See you tomorrow, Wilder. Doug."

He tried to keep his pace deliberate as he exited the bar. Inside him, the turmoil churned so violently that he thought he would throw up the beer that he had just finished drinking. As he attempted to reconcile his new reality, he replayed their conversation in his mind. Even if he had been recording them, nothing that either man had said was incriminating. He had to hope that his meeting with Jim yielded something more substantial or he would soon have some tough choices to make.

_A/N: A little something to develop the case. Again, your thoughts are more than welcome. Scarlet._


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: I don't have a whole lot to say at the start of this chapter, but thanks for reading, thanks for reviewing and I hope you're still enjoying this story as it progresses. Sorry it took so long to update this time... I was having problems with ff.n and couldn't upload the documents. Hopefully the delay wasn't too long._

_**Chapter Five -**_

"Brennan."

Temperance rolled over as she answered the phone and peered at the clock on the bedside table. The LED crystals glared back at her, confirming that she had just been woken from a dead sleep at nearly three o'clock in the morning.

"Hello," she spoke again, clearing the cobwebs of sleep from her mind. "This is Brennan. Who is this?"

Nothing but silence greeted her from the other end of the line. She checked the caller id, but the number had been blocked. She listened a full minute longer, catching the slight hint of breathing through the phone line.

"Booth?"

She didn't know why she thought it might be him and why he wouldn't answer her if it was, but she did and he didn't.

"Booth, if that's you, I want you to know that I miss you."

She wasn't sure why she was telling Booth that she missed him when she wasn't even sure that she was speaking to him. The thought that someone else might be listening dawned on her in that moment and she realized that by speaking to him she might be jeopardizing his cover. Even with that realization, she couldn't force herself to hang up on him. She didn't want to break this connection as long as she could hear him - or someone - on the other end of the line.

"I'm not sure who this is, but do you mind if we talk anyway? I wouldn't mind the distraction; the lab's been pretty quiet these days. Although Zach and Hodgins manage to spice things up from time to time. Angela's even had enough time to work on a few more pieces and she's thinking of having a small showing at a local gallery."

She was sure that if it was Booth that she was speaking to, he wouldn't care to hear any of the news of the lab, but she didn't know what else to say. Could she risk telling him about Parker? How could she not?

"Last week, Booth's son came by for a visit. He was so excited and I brought him through the museum and the dinosaur display. I was impressed by how much he knew about the dinosaurs. He even told me the difference between herbivores and carnivores - the ones that eat salads and the ones that eat cheeseburgers."

She thought that she could hear a smile on the other end of the line although she couldn't quite explain how she could possibly hear a smile.

"He even gave me a hug and a kiss for his dad in case I saw him before he did."

She listened to his breathing a little longer, reassured that it seemed even and healthy and that she wasn't just listening to him while he lay there dying.

"We haven't been working with the FBI much lately. I can't seem to connect with our new agent so I don't even bother going in the field with him at all. It just doesn't seem right to without Booth. I just stick around the lab with the rest of the squints."

She thought that he might like to know that he didn't have to worry about her. Not that she wasn't capable of taking care of herself and not that he didn't know that she could take care of herself. But he was an alpha male and he naturally wanted to protect her - even when he was too far away to do so.

Their breathing filled the silence again and she tried to content herself with this small connection while she had it. And then she thought of Booth - alone and isolated and forced to stand on a street corner and listen to the sound of her breathing. Without any friends or family for comfort and she was certain that he needed comfort or he wouldn't have called.

"I'm here you know. If you need me, I'm here or I can be there."

The expected silence answered her offer and lingered for a moment until it ended suddenly with a click and was replaced with a dial tone. Temperance stared at the phone and let the dial tone drone until it was replaced with the urgent beeping of a phone left off the hook for too long. Ending the call, she cradled the handset against her chest and tried to fall back to sleep.

_A/N: I know it wasn't very long, but I felt it was complete. Please let me know what you think. Scarlet._


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: I know that the last chapter was a little short and this one isn't much longer, so I hope it helps that I post them together. Again, reviews are highly sought after and cherished. Scarlet._

_**Chapter Six - **_

Booth rested his head against the cold glass of the phone booth. Hot tears splashed down his cheeks and he struggled to control both his tears and his breathing. He had known that he shouldn't call her, but he had to. He needed to be reminded of his old life. He needed to remember the man that he was before he had come here. He needed to know that he wasn't the man that he was pretending to be right now. That he wasn't a man who could shoot another man without provocation or warning. That he wasn't a man who could shoot an unarmed man. That he wasn't the man who had killed a man in his office while his wife and kids had slept in the other room. He couldn't be that man again.

His stomach turned and he pushed his way out into the cold December rain. The cold drops mingled with his hot tears and washed them away. If only the rain could wash away his sins as well. He had devoured every single detail of the Abdi case file and had to admit that the Patriots seemed to have pegged him correctly. Still, making the leap from investigating and arresting a man to assassinating him wasn't something that he was ever comfortable doing. And yet, he had done it.

Now, he would have to deal with the consequences of his actions. Those consequences will be a long time coming. It had been those consequences as much as his actions that had driven him to call Bones. It might have been a mistake, but it had been exactly what he had needed. He needed the pain of missing her and Parker to remind him of the man that he used to be. The man that he still was. Hopefully, the man that he would one day be, again.

With leaden legs and shaky knees, he jogged off in the direction of his downtown apartment. A hot shower chased the chill from his bones and cleared his mind enough for him to face his new reality. As much as he had made quick progress of the normally slow and tortuous task of penetrating a criminal organization, he still had much more work ahead of him. He had met Jim Mandle, the man that directed Doug and Wilder, but he had also discovered that Jim was just another rung in the ladder of the hierarchy of the Michigan faction of the Patriots. The organization was more widespread than either he or Cullen had originally believed and he had yet to compile enough evidence to even implicate the men that he had met. So as much as he had made quick progress, he felt as though he was further behind then he was when this had all begun.

_A/N: Well??? I would love to hear what you're thinking so far. I may not be able to post anything new for a little bit. I'm on vacation for a week - headed to New York and not bringing my laptop. I'd love to come home to some reviews, so feel free to send them and I will reply when I get home. Scarlet._


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: Okay, so I know the last couple of chapters were short and this one isn't very long either, but I promise that the next one has more substance and will be ready to post very soon. Thanks for still reading. Scarlet._

_**Chapter Seven - **_

"Hello?" Rebecca's singsong voice greeted him through the phone lines.

"Rebecca? It's Booth."

"Seeley?" The tone of her voice changed the moment that he revealed his identity. "I can't believe that you have been gone for nearly four months and this is the first time that you've called."

"I told you that I would be busy. I told you that I wouldn't be able to call. I told you to call Bones if you needed anything." He tried to keep the frustration from his voice, but knew that he failed to do so. His life was difficult enough these days without having to deal with his ex.

"What about Parker? What about your son? Is he supposed to call your former partner when he's upset because his father didn't get to see him in the school play? Should he call her when he wants his dad to read him a story and do all the crazy voices that only his dad can do and no one else can do them the right way? Should he…"

"Rebecca, please," he pleaded with her, the edge to his voice softening with his plea. "I didn't call you to fight. I'm coming home for Christmas. I just want to make arrangements to spend some time with Parker."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea," she answered, her voice assuming the edge that his had abandoned.

"Come on, Rebecca." He drew the last syllable of her name out in entreaty.

"It's just going to upset him. Do you know how hard this has been on him?"

He rose and paced in his office. He hated being reminded of the effects of his absence on his son. He loved him and he missed him and that was exactly why he was taking the risk of going home.

"Don't do this, please." He ran his hand through his hair and dropped dejectedly back into his chair. "I'm only asking for a day - half a day. A few hours even. Can you do this for me? For Parker?"

"Huuhgh," she exhaled loudly into the receiver and he felt a glimmer of hope. "For Parker. I'll do it for him. We're having an early dinner on Christmas day so you can pick him up at five. He should be finished by then."

"Thanks, Rebecca." He heard the smile in his voice as he thanked her. "It means a lot to me."

Booth ended the call, questioning the nerves that tingled with the thought of seeing his son. He was excited to see him, but he was also nervous. He was afraid that Parker wouldn't welcome him after he had been gone for so long. The decision to go home for Christmas had been a difficult one. It didn't really jeopardize his cover - he was, after all, Seeley Booth, with a life and son and friends that he had left behind in DC. It was the risk that he placed on them that worried him. The people he had met during these months in Detroit had been led to believe that he wasn't close with any of the people that he had left in DC. That he had a son that he supported, but that was basically the extent of his involvement in his life. He wanted to keep it that way.

Temperance closed the last of the files that had been piled on her desk. The week had been surprisingly quiet, allowing her coworkers to fully prepare for the upcoming holiday. Today, the air was filled with a sense of celebration throughout the Jeffersonian and for the first time in many years, that celebration had managed to permeate the walls of the Medico-Legal lab. For the first time in a long time, she found herself sharing a bit of that holiday cheer.

Preparing to shut down her computer for the holiday break, she opened her email to delete the message that she should have deleted two days earlier when she had received it. Unable to resist, she read it one last time.

_Roxie,_

_I know you love to travel and I know that you don't really like the holidays, but I really hope that you stick close to home this year._

_Tony._

She wished that he had given her more. A date. A time. An 'I'm coming home for Christmas and I'd like to see you while I'm there.' She knew he was coming. Parker had called her and told her excitedly the same day that she had received her email.

_Why had he been able to call Parker, but not me?_

She shrugged her shoulders in answer to her own question. She wouldn't attempt to dissect the psychology of Booth's mind. She would ask him when she saw him. Whenever that might happen to be.

_A/N: Another chapter should be ready soon. In the mean time, a little review as encouragement would be appreciated. Scarlet._


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: As promised, a little more substance with this latest installment. I hope you enjoy it. As always, thank you for reading and also, I don't own these characters. I'm just borrowing them for a while and I promise to return them when I'm finished, so please don't sue._

_**Chapter Eight - **_

Temperance fumbled with her keys as she attempted to balance her packages and open the door to her apartment. All week, Jack and Angela had helped her pick out a few gifts for Parker. If anyone had questioned her sudden change of heart on the commercialization of Christmas, they didn't give voice to their opinion. If they had, she would have explained that she felt obligated to fill the void that Booth had left in Parker's life. She knew that he was confused by his father's absence. She knew that he felt abandoned by him. She knew that a few presents wouldn't change either of those facts, but she thought that they couldn't make things any worse for the young boy.

A groan of frustration escaped her as the keys slipped from her fingers in a jangle of metal and hardened plastic. Shifting her packages in her arms again, she balanced them precariously while bending to retrieve her lost keys. The sound of metal on metal came from above and she looked up from the floor in time to see the door to her apartment open.

"How much longer are you going to keep me waiting on the other side of this door?"

"Booth!"

Her packages and keys forgotten, she jumped to her feet and rushed through the door and into his arms. Their warm, muscled strength surrounded her and she thought that it was the most incredible feeling she had ever felt. Never one for romantic notions, she had to admit that being in the midst of one was a surprisingly pleasurable experience.

"Mmm," his chest vibrated with the sound against her ear. "I have been waiting to do this for a long time."

"How long have you been here?" she asked. Pulling back from his embrace briefly, she continued: "How did you get in here?"

"I flashed my badge at the super."

"I don't have a super," she laughed, pushing playfully against his chest.

"Don't you remember? You gave me a spare key," he laughed with her and the sound seemed rusty, as if it was something that he hadn't done in a while or very often. She remembered his easy laughter and was saddened to find that that had changed in him.

"I don't think that I gave you that key so you could hide in my apartment to scare me when I came home from work. You made me drop all of my gifts."

"Gifts, Bones? What are you doing with gifts?"

"Well, I thought that I should make sure that Parker got enough gifts. I knew you were coming, but I didn't know how much time you would have to shop and I didn't want him to think that he didn't get enough this year. It's been a tough enough year for him already."

"Ouch, Bones. Why don't you just throw a little salt in there after you pull the knife out of my back?"

"Pull the knife out of your back? I don't know what that means, but it doesn't sound good." She thought that she noticed the hint of a smile twitch on the corner of his mouth and it confused her. "I don't understand. I just wanted to make sure that Parker had a good Christmas. What's wrong with that?"

"It's not the 'good Christmas' part that hurts. Actually, it makes me happy that you care enough about my son to want to give him gifts even though you don't believe in gift-giving. It's the 'tough enough year' part that hurts. I know that this is hard on Parker. I don't need you to remind me of what this is doing to my son."

Booth ran a hand through his hair and paced away from her in frustration. She cursed herself and her thoughtless words. Booth had come home for just a couple of days and she couldn't offer him a little peace and happiness. Instead, she had flung in his face the suffering of his son. Turning away from him, she began collecting the packages that she had discarded at the door. As she rose with the first stack, his big hands covered hers and relieved her of her burden.

"I'm sorry, Bones, it's just that… it's been tough… being away from…"

"No, Booth," she interrupted. "You don't have to be sorry. I should be sorry. I can't imagine how hard it's been for you being away from Parker for so long."

"Not just Parker, Bones. I've missed you, too."

His voice had lowered an octave and it washed over her. She felt her face flush as her heart beat increased slightly and more blood flooded her cheeks. He dropped the gifts on the kitchen counter and stepped before her.

"I just realized something." He stepped even closer and tangled his fingers in her hair. "You haven't kissed me yet."

His fingers curled against the nape of her neck, silently encouraging her to cover the remaining distance between them. Rising to the balls of her feet, she met his lips with hers and his free hand pressed her against his chest. She slid her hands along the expanse of his back, lengthening their kiss, enjoying the taste of him. She wasn't sure how much time passed before they separated, but she was breathless when they did.

"Hey, Bones, how long do you plan on leaving the rest of the gifts in the hallway?"

"Oh, right. The gifts."

She retrieved the rest of the packages and her keys and closed the door to her apartment. She arranged the gifts on a table in the corner of her living room. She might have given in to the commercialization of Christmas, but she couldn't bring herself to go so far as to decorate her apartment and put up a tree. She wasn't even sure if Parker would be coming to her place or if she would just be giving the gifts to Booth to give to him. Moving the poinsettia plant to the corner of the table, she piled the gifts around it. Satisfied with the results of her brief foray into Christmas decorating, she turned back to the man that she'd spent the last four months missing.

"I was really surprised that you were coming home. Isn't it a risk to your cover?"

She took in his appearance as he lounged on her couch. He was dressed in his weekend uniform of jeans and a long-sleeved grey t-shirt with a darker grey, short-sleeved shirt over it. His casual repose and attire belied the rigid set of his jaw.

"Bones, please, I don't want to talk about any of that, okay? I just want to spend the next couple of days with you and Parker and forget about that while I'm here."

She dropped to the couch next to him, angling herself so she could face him.

"So, what's your game strategy?"

"Game strategy? It's game plan, Bones. Come on, even you should know that." He laughed and this time, the sound seemed less rusty. "I'm picking Parker up tomorrow after dinner. Rebecca's letting him spend the night with me and then I'll drop him off. After that, I'll have to go."

_One night. That's it. That's all I get._

"You know, I have a spare room. You can bring Parker here if you want."

"I was hoping you would say that, Bones. I have to admit - I haven't even been to my place yet. It's not really ready for me to bring Parker for the night."

"I don't mind. In fact, I think I would like it. Besides, it would give me a little more time with you."

He smiled and she was glad that she had risked telling him her feelings. They had only had one weekend together before he had left, but she felt as though they had been a couple for a long time before that first night. How long before she wasn't sure. Their relationship had been developing since the day they had first met.

Reaching out to caress his stubble darkened cheek, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his in a soft, but demanding kiss. He answered by opening his mouth to her and pulling her closer until she straddled him.

"So I know your game plan for tomorrow," she said, breaking their kiss briefly, "but do you have any plans for tonight?"

"Hmmm," his lips found her earlobe and shivers chased down her spine. "I have hundreds."

His hands gripped her hips and she ground herself against him. This elicited a groan from him and caused a tingling in her belly. Her lips found his again while his hands moved to cup her buttocks. Without any warning, he rose and she wrapped her legs around his waist as he carried her to her bedroom.

She woke to the cool air on her naked back and rolled over, shifting, searching for his warmth. The emptiness that greeted her caused her to come fully awake. She rose, pulling the sheet with her and wrapped it around her as she padded quietly from the bedroom.

She found him in the living room, standing with his back to her, facing the window. He had pulled on his jeans, but she could tell by their fit that he had left them unbuttoned. His back was bare and as she reached him, she laid a hand against the gentle curve of his spine. His arms were held crossed and close to his chest, effectively closing her off from him and he didn't move to acknowledge her presence. She allowed him his silence, but not his space. Standing beside him, she pressed a kiss against his shoulder and slid her hand along his forearm until her palm rested against the back of his hand. She turned her head and rested it against his shoulder and stared with him at the night lights.

"I'm here you know, if you need me. I'm right here."

"I know."

When he answered, his voice rasped with emotion, but he still failed to turn to acknowledge her presence. She waited. She waited for him to say that he needed her or that he might need her, but just not right in that moment. She waited for what seemed like hours, but in reality was probably less than half of one. She waited in silence, respecting his need for this quiet night. She waited until she felt that she might be intruding and was about to leave. As her weight shifted, his hand turned and captured hers. He made no other sounds or movements, but his meaning was clear to her all the same. He needed her to stay with him. She stayed.

_A/N: So, a little BB in the mix. What did you think?_


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: Sorry for leaving so much time between posts, but I had a terrible set back in my writing in the form of Real Life. Hopefully things have calmed down now and I can get back on track. No promises although I will try my best. In the mean time, I hope this chapter keeps you entertained._

_**Chapter Nine - **_

Booth leaned against the car, his hands stuffed in his pockets. The casual pose he held was in sharp contrast to the myriad of emotions that were swirling inside him. It had been over four months since he had last seen his son and he was filled with anticipation at the prospect of finally seeing him again. He was also worried that his relationship with his son would never be the way that it used to be. The door opened behind him and he turned to face yet another of his sins.

"Daddy! Daddy!"

Parker raced toward him and chased the worry from his mind. Crouching down, he held his arms open and waited for his son to fill them. He wrapped them tightly around his small form and held Parker firmly against his chest. Unbidden, tears filled his eyes and he blinked quickly to prevent their fall.

"Oh, buddy, it's so good to see you. I missed you."

"I missed you, too, Dad. Mom said you can't stay long. You're not going to leave again, are you?"

He felt a stabbing pain as he looked down at his son's innocent, trusting face. He hated having to put him through this ordeal and in the back of his mind he wondered if he should have come home at all. Focusing back on his son, he realized that, as painful as it might be, he would have to be honest with him.

"Sorry, bub, but your mom's right. I have to leave tomorrow, but I'll come back to visit again soon."

_Okay, so that's not being completely honest._

"So, tell me, did Santa bring you a lot of great presents?" he asked, ashamed slightly by his blatant change of topic.

"Oh yeah!" Parker answered enthusiastically. "Wanna come see?"

Parker began tugging on his hand immediately, so excited by the prospect of showing his father all of his new toys. Booth held back, knowing that his time was precious and that his almost-former in-laws were on the other side of the door.

"I'm sorry, bub, but we can't. We have to get going. You can show me another time."

He winced when he realized that he had just told his son a second lie - or a second half-lie - within minutes of seeing him for the first time after so long. Parker seemed unfazed by the refusal and with the characteristic exuberance of a six-year-old, released his hand and bounded over to the rear door of his rental car.

"Hey, Dad, where's your car?"

"I flew here and rented this one from the airport," he answered over his shoulder, waiting for Rebecca who had approached with Parker's things. "Thanks, Rebecca," he said as she handed him the bags. "Thanks for giving me this day with him."

"I never could say 'no' to you, Seeley. Besides, I know how happy he is to see you. Just promise me that you won't make him wait so long before he sees you again."

"I won't." He managed to hold her eyes even through his lie and was becoming increasingly impressed with his ability to deceive the people who were close to him. "If you need to call, call the number I gave you for Temperance; my phone is dead and I forgot to pack the charger."

"You're not staying at your place?" Rebecca asked. "You do still have it, right?"

"Yeah, I do, but it was kind of last minute that I was able to come home and I forgot to get the heat turned on," he quickly answered, uncomfortable with the confusing web of lies that he was beginning to weave.

The truth was that he was trying to put as much distance between his Michigan life and his DC life. He was hoping that his DC activities would be more difficult to trace if he stayed away from most of the places that he would normally spend his time. He didn't believe that anyone was following him; he was almost completely certain that nobody was, in fact. Surveillance was another story though - recording devices in his home and on his phone lines, electronic searches of his phone records and his credit card and bank accounts - this was where he was concerned that something might come back on him later on. Other than his flight and his rental car - both proof of the trip that everyone in Michigan knew he had taken - there was no other electronic evidence that he had even been in DC.

"Daddy!" Parker's shout was loud even through the closed car door. Booth opened the door and sat in the driver's seat. "I thought you said we had to go."

Booth smothered his smile at the half-angry, half-accusing tone of his son's voice. He waited while Rebecca gave Parker a kiss good-bye and then he pulled out of the driveway and sped off in the direction of Bones' apartment.

A few hours later, he was lying in bed with his son and feeling almost as tired as he knew that Parker was. He hadn't slept much the night before and the excitement of watching Parker tear through the presents and then helping him discover the joys of each gift had combined to leave both Booth men craving the tranquility of a bedtime story. He was barely halfway through the book when Parker's eyes had drifted shut and this time, they remained closed.

Shortly after he had finished reading aloud, he noticed a splash of red from the corner of his eye and looked up to find Bones standing in the doorway. She had participated in their earlier play, but he felt as though he had ignored her for the better part of the day; between the trip to pick up Parker and a quick, lunchtime meeting with Cullen - _I'm sure his wife loved that_ - he knew that he had not been able to spend nearly enough time with her for his liking. Carefully, he closed the book he had been reading and shifted to move off of the bed.

"Daddy," came Parker's tired cry almost as soon as he attempted to pull his arm out from beneath him. "Where're you going?"

Booth pulled his arm free and shifted his son until his head was resting on a pillow. Leaning close, he kissed his forehead and whispered: "Shh, it's okay. I'm just going to sit in the other room."

"But you didn't finish the story," he whined and Booth wanted to laugh since Parker had yet to open his eyes.

"I'll finish it later, okay, buddy?"

"No you won't," came Parker's dejected reply. "You didn't finish the last one. You left and you didn't come back."

Booth was frozen by the accusation - the truthful accusation. He had come back, but too much time had passed and Parker only remembered that his father had left him. And, he wouldn't be able to finish this story either. He would be leaving him again. He glanced at Bones who still hovered in the doorway and found pity and sorrow in her answering gaze. Picking up the abandoned book, he laid back down next to his son and cradled him against his chest.

"Okay, bub, where were we?"

Parker had wakened more fully now although Booth was sure that his little man was only awake through sheer determination. Determination borne from a fear of waking up and finding his father had left him again. A fear that, unfortunately would come to fruition. Settling in, Booth opened the book and decided to start from the beginning again. It was a rare joy to be reading to his son and he knew in that instant that he wanted it to last as long as it could.

He paused briefly in his reading as Bones came into the room. He watched as she kissed Parker on the forehead. She turned to him and pressed her soft lips against his and then left the room. Booth resumed reading and continued until the story was finished, even though it was long after his son had fallen asleep.

He woke a couple of hours later, uncomfortable from his cramped sleeping position. He flexed his fingers, restoring the circulation that had been cut off by the weight of Parker's head. He shifted, wishing that he had changed from his jeans and sweater before climbing into bed with his son. He moved to rise from the bed, but Parker's clutching fingers prevented him from doing so.

"No, daddy."

Parker's cry accompanied the grasping of his hand. Booth settled back against the mattress and soothed his son back to slumber. He pressed his lips against Parker's temple and rubbed his free hand along his back. Murmuring nonsense against his forehead, he heard his breathing deepen and then eventually followed Parker on the pathway back to sleep.

He tried one other time to leave, but gave up the instant Parker's "please don't leave me, daddy" left his lips. In that moment, Booth realized the damage that his course of action was wreaking on his son. In that moment, he realized that the price he was asking - no, forcing - Parker to pay was too high. In that moment, he realized that maybe this once, he should put the good of the one over the good of the many. That by trying to make the world a better place for everyone, he was ruining it for his son.

_I can't go back there. I don't want to and I can't do this to him any more._

Even as the determination to end the charade that had become his life entered his mind, he saw the inaccuracy in his decision. As much as he would give up everything to stay in bed with son forever, he knew that he would have to give up everything and more if he did. He was too deep in the Patriots' organization now and had too little proof to protect himself if he wanted to leave. If he walked away now, they would come after him. They would come after him and his family. As much as it hurt Parker to have his father out of his life, it was better than the pain that he would suffer if Booth tried to stay home.

The depressing realization nearly brought tears to his eyes and he pulled Parker closer to him, cherishing the feel of him in his arms and not knowing how much time would pass before he would have the chance to spend another night with his son. A crack of light appeared in the doorway and then was blocked by Bones' form. He watched her walk over to the bed, reminded again of how much he enjoyed watching her move.

"He doesn't want me to leave," he whispered to her in explanation.

"I know how he feels," she whispered in answer and sat down beside him.

He moved over, careful not to wake Parker again. She laid down beside him, pillowing her head against his shoulder and wrapping her arm around his waist. He closed his eyes and tried to recall a single memory that included a moment when he had felt better than this. He forgot for a moment that he would be leaving them both in less than twelve hours and focused instead on the feeling of cradling his son against his chest while he was being held by the woman that he loved.

_A/N: Thank you for reading and, if you have the time, I would appreciate you sending me your thoughts. Scarlet._


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: Okay, so I thought that I was finished with all of the short chapters, but unfortunately, here is another one. I hope to be able to post another (longer) chapter soon, so hopefully that makes up for the brevity of this one. All the usual disclaimers, etc. Less than thirty days until the premiere of season three!!! Yeah!!! But, for now…_

_**Chapter Ten - **_

Temperance changed the CD in her stereo, choosing a mellow jazz mix that suited her melancholy mood. Nearly six weeks had passed since Booth's last visit at Christmas and he had been gone for almost six months in total. Lately, she seemed to have become a bit of an insomniac and she couldn't for the life of her understand why. Because she didn't know why she couldn't sleep, she couldn't find a resolution to the problem.

She thought briefly of the morning that she had shared with Booth and Parker before he had left. She remembered his smiles and laughter as Parker had regaled him with the many adventures that a six-year-old experiences. She remembered, too, the shadows that had tinged his eyes and his smile. Then, too soon, Booth had begun to pack his bag and she felt the shadows begin to tinge her smile as well.

She would have to be fairly obtuse to not admit that at least a portion of her sleeplessness was caused by Booth's absence. Maybe not his absence so much as her worry for him during his absence. She hadn't received any emails or phone calls from him since he had left that morning after Christmas making this the greatest amount of time that had passed without some form of correspondence from him.

She returned to her desk and stared at the cursor that was flashing on the blank page of her word processing program. She thought that, since she couldn't sleep, she would capitalize on the extra time by working on her latest novel. Unfortunately, she couldn't seem to organize her thoughts enough to even begin to put anything together.

_I miss you, Booth._

The words stared at her on the screen. She thought about how simple that phrase was: "I miss you" and how often it was used. How often it was misused, actually, because it was often said when someone was away for a couple of days; the pain of that separation couldn't possibly compare to the pain that she was feeling now. There had to be another word to describe how she was feeling.

She tried to organize her thoughts enough to come up with a different phrase to describe her feelings. Surprisingly, thinking about missing Booth was a welcome distraction from missing him. On a whim, she looked up the word 'miss' with her computer's thesaurus program in an effort to find the right word to describe her pain.

_fail to spot (v)_

_fail to take (v)_

_pine for (v)_

_fail to attend (v)_

She tried the phrase 'I pine for you' a few times in her mind, but still wasn't satisfied. Pining for someone certain seemed to carry a greater depth of emotion than missing someone, but she still didn't feel it was a match for the ache that had settled into her chest. She highlighted the phrase 'pine for' and had the computer search for more similar phrases.

_pine for_

_long for_

_yearn for_

_wish for_

_grieve for_

As she read the last synonym, tears sprang to her eyes and she quickly cancelled her search erasing the words from the screen. She was not grieving for Booth. She could not consider that possibility.

_I miss you, Booth._

_I pine for you._

_I long for you._

_I yearn for you._

_I wish for you to return._

She stared at her tribute to him - to her feelings for him and found the list incomplete.

_I love you, Booth._

_Please be safe._

Leaving her laptop open, she moved to her couch. Lying so she could still see the screen even though she couldn't read it, she clutched a pillow close to her chest. Inhaling, she could still faintly detect the scent of his cologne. Closing her eyes, she hoped he would return before it faded completely.

_A/N: Reviews, as always, are much appreciated. Please feel free to contribute. Thanks for reading, Scarlet._


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Sorry for the delay between chapters. I hope that this chapter is good enough to warrant the delay. Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me this long and I especially thank those who have consistently reviewed. You have helped to keep me motivated, especially during my current RL chaos. And now, on with the show…_

_**Chapter Eleven - **_

Booth woke in a cold sweat and struggled briefly to calm his racing heart. He grasped at the vague images of the nightmare even as they faded from his conscious memory. Breathing deeply, he caught fragments of the dream and rose from his bed. He knew that he wouldn't be returning to sleep anytime soon.

He walked to his small kitchen in the dark, not needing any light to find his way through his compact apartment. With a slightly trembling hand that deepened the frown on his face, he poured himself a glass of water. He savoured the cool liquid as it flowed down his throat. Suddenly, the soothing cool choked him as the vision of Rajiya Ihsan burst forth from his memory. He closed his eyes, but he couldn't prevent himself from replaying the scene.

_Her head snapped back and to the side, away from him. Her dark hair flung outward, cruelly mocking him and reminding him of a shampoo commercial. The backward momentum caused by his bullet pulled her to the ground and she landed on her back, her arm falling across her chest. He slowly retreated from his vantage point, but not without having seen the blood that pooled around her. The echo of a small voice chased him as he escaped. "Mama? Mama? Mama!"_

He gasped for breath and slammed his glass on the counter. His hands gripped its' edge and he took a couple of deep breaths as he tried to chase the child's echoing cry from his mind. In all the intelligence that he had compiled on Ihsan, none of it had included the fact that she had been a mother. He had read the details of her links to several well-known, active Iranians. He had seen evidence suggesting that she had helped secure the explosives that had resulted in a bombing at a local college. He had seen video of her entering and exiting the building the day the bomb had exploded. He had seen enough to convince himself that, with a little more time, the FBI could have executed a legitimate arrest. Jim Mandle had intervened then, convinced that if they waited to act, more lives would be lost. He had even understood the man's reasoning. Still, in spite of all of that, he couldn't have gone through with it if he had known that she had had a son. He had barely been able to go through with it as it was.

He pushed away from the counter, swaying a bit with the loss of its support. His head still spun with the nightmare, although he recognized that he had awoken earlier than the other times. This time, Ihsan's black hair hadn't developed shades of red. This time, her olive skin hadn't paled to a fine porcelain. This time, the pitch of the small boy's voice hadn't altered to match Parker's perfectly. This time, his nightmare hadn't ended with Parker crying: "Bones? Bones!"

His stomach flipped and he thought for a moment that he might revisit the water that he had just consumed. A few more deep breaths were followed by a few deliberate swallows and he found the strength to walk unsteadily back to his bedroom. Pulling his running gear from the closet, he quickly dressed and headed out the door of his apartment. As he trotted down the stairs and pushed his way through the back entrance, the cold air sliced through him. He knew that running in February warranted more than a t-shirt and jogging pants, but the pain of the cold air helped him forget the pain inside him.

His muscles protested as he headed down the alley to the street and for a short time, he forgot the incident and focused on simply convincing his legs to move. Slowly, his muscles warmed, his stride lengthened, and his breath burned a little less in his lungs. His pace increased and he soon lost himself in his run.

The freedom didn't last long though. Soon enough, the image of her crumbling was pushing back to the forefront of his thoughts. Over a week had passed since he had taken her life and he was still suffering. He had lost the ability to distance himself from his marks. Something had happened between this time and the time when he was a Ranger. He wasn't sure what is was so he wasn't sure if he could change it. He wasn't sure that he wanted to but he knew that if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to survive this assignment much longer.

With the knowledge that his breaking point was imminent, he recognized that he would have to step up the rate of his progress. The question that ensued was how to accomplish that feat. It wasn't as if he was dragging his feet and trying to turn his assignment into a holiday. He needed to change his approach; he knew what he needed to do but he didn't know how. He just knew that he couldn't be judge, jury and executioner for yet another man, never again for another woman.

He turned the corner and recognized the area where his feet had brought him. He spied the dilapidated phone booth on the corner up ahead and shook his head to the suggestion as soon as it entered his mind. He couldn't call her.

_The click of the chamber was followed by the distinct sound of a silently discharged weapon._

He would not call her.

_Her body turned and fell back, her outstretched arm catching the chair as she fell._

She might not even answer.

_The wood chair clattered on the tile floor. The clean hole that marred her cheekbone giving little hint of the damage that hid behind it._

The hardened plastic of the receiver felt cold against the exercise-induced warmth of his palm.

_Her red hair matted with the blood that pooled around her._

The ringing in his ear couldn't drown out the sounds in his mind. He closed his eyes against the vision that he knew he would still see behind their lids.

"_Mama? Mama?"_

"Brennan." Her voice mingled with the voice in his head. He slid down along the frigid glass.

"_Bones? Bones? Bones!"_

His breathing sharpened and he fisted his hand against his mouth to muffle it.

"It's you, isn't it?" Her voice reminded him of all that was good in her and all that was bad in him. He had hoped that it would soothe him, but he felt his pain swell instead.

"I was thinking of you and worrying about you and you called. I know someone who would read more into that than I would. I wish he was here now."

_Her porcelain skin was spattered with crimson drops of blood._

He tried to hold back the sob that ripped through him but failed. He slammed his fist against the glass enclosure, redirecting his pain. Silent tears fell down his cheeks and he bit his lip, containing the sound that they demanded.

"Are you okay?"

He drew a ragged breath and tried to pull his emotions back within him.

"Are you hurt? I know you can't tell me, but… are you okay?"

He drew another steadying breath. He heard the panic in her voice and somehow found strength in it.

"I know you can't… please, Booth. I know you can't talk to me, but please tell me that you're not hurt. That you're not calling me as you bleed to death with no one to help you. I love you and I need to know that I'm not sitting here listening to you die."

His tears renewed but this time they were borne from a cleaner pain.

"I'm not dying, Bones," he answered in a choked voice. He couldn't tell her that he was okay. He wasn't okay.

"I'm not dying," he repeated and then he hung up the phone. His muscles protested as he pushed himself up from his crouched position and stumbled off into the cold night.

_A/N: Thank you again for reading. Please review, if you feel that you have something to say. I promise, I will appreciate it. Scarlet._


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: Well, for starters, I have to apologize for how much time has lapsed between updates. Then, I have to apologize because there isn't much substance in this update, but I felt it necessary. I should have another chapter soon - much sooner than this one, but I just want to make sure that I have a good handle on the chapter after that before I post it. Finally, I have to apologize - and thank Mendenbar for noticing - for not having a believable reason for Booth to have a calling card on him during his impromptu jog. Let's just go with his boy scout mentality… always be prepared - just in case. Thanks for being patient and please continue to read. Scarlet. _

_**Chapter Twelve - **_

The buzzing of her cell phone as it vibrated against her desk top drew Temperance's attention from the papers she had been reading. She glanced at the phone number that was displayed and, failing to recognize it, turned her attention back to her work. The vibration stopped briefly as the caller was directed to her voice mail, but renewed almost instantly. Glancing over, she realized it was the same caller and decided to answer; it was unlikely that she would be able to work undisturbed otherwise.

"Brennan."

"Umm, hi."

The voice on the other end of the line was unmistakably youthful and she immediately recognized it as Parker's ; no other small children would be calling her.

"Hi, Parker," she smiled as she answered him.

"How did you know it was me, Dr. Brennan?"

She felt her smile brighten at his slightly mangled pronunciation of her name.

"I recognized your voice."

"Oh."

She waited for more from the young boy, his breathing sounding harsh in her ear and she could almost envision him holding the receiver directly against his mouth as he spoke to her. She wanted to ask him the reason for his call, but she didn't want to give him the impression that she didn't want him to call her. Suddenly, she wished that Angela was with her to help her find the right thing to say. After nearly a full minute of silence and breathing, she decided that she probably had enough social grace to trust her own instincts in a conversation with a six-year old.

"Parker, I'm really happy that you called me. Did you just call me to talk or did you have a specific reason?"

"A specific reason," came his reply, although he pronounced the word 'specific' as though it was spelled 'spific'.

After waiting for him to elaborate, she prompted: "Okay, why don't you tell me why you called then. You don't have to be afraid to tell me," she added as an afterthought.

"Daddy said that if I needed anything and Mom couldn't get it for me, I could ask you." His words seemed to come more surely for him. "It's my birthday in three more sleeps."

"Happy birthday," Temperance replied immediately, surprised and embarrassed that she hadn't known when his birthday was until that moment.

"Thank you," he answered, his voice betraying the training that he had doubtlessly received from his mother in the area of manners. "But it's not my birthday yet. Mom says it's not polite to ask for presents, but Daddy said that I could ask you for anything I wanted."

"Of course you can, Parker," she replied, encouraging him to continue. She would gladly give the boy anything that his heart desired.

"Can you call my Dad and tell him to come to my party?"

Temperance immediately felt her stomach flip at his request. She could buy Parker anything, but what he wanted couldn't be purchased in a store. He wanted his father and she knew that his having to celebrate his birthday without Booth would have a terrible impact on his special day - and the rest of his life. She remembered how hard her first birthday alone had been. She remembered how she had wished for her parents before blowing out all the candles, making sure that not a single one was missed. She remembered how she had cried when the flames had amazingly reappeared because her foster family had thought she would like the magic of the party store candles.

"Mom won't call," Parker continued, unperturbed by Temperance's lack of response. "She says that Daddy knows when my birthday is and that if he knows what's good for him he will be at the party."

"It might not be that simple, Parker," she began, unsure how to proceed. Rebecca was right; Booth did know when Parker's birthday was and should be doing everything in his power to come home for his son. Unfortunately, based on his last phone call, she wasn't sure that Booth would be able to come home. She knew, despite the lack of conclusive evidence, that he was becoming too entangled in his assignment to steal home, even if it was just for a day.

"Your father has a very important new job and he might be too busy to come all the way home."

"But Mom says that if he doesn't come then it will be a cold day in hell before he gets to see me again. How many sleeps until a cold day in hell?"

Temperance felt herself smiling in spite of the anger that Rebecca's statement caused. Booth was a good father and was not intentionally missing his son's birthday and she wished that Rebecca could realize that truth. Admittedly, Booth had kept a significant amount of the details surrounding his absence from Rebecca, so she could also understand the basis of Rebecca's frustration.

"It doesn't work like that, Parker," she explained, remembering his question. " 'A cold day in hell' is just a figure of speech. It means it will be a long time."

"But it's already been a long time since Daddy came home. I want to see him."

"I know. You miss him. I miss him, too, and I want him to come home. But, it's just not that easy."

"But, Daddy said if I needed anything, you could get it for me. I need to see my Dad, Dr. Brennan."

She felt her spirit sink at Parker's accusing tone. She hadn't thought that she would fail him the first time he requested something of her. She wanted to scream at Booth for putting her in the position of crushing his son's hopes. She wanted to scream at Booth for not calling Parker and telling him that he would, in fact, be home for his birthday. She wanted Booth to come home so she could scream at him because in that moment, she was worried that he might not be coming home. There were not many things that could keep him from his son and even fewer that he would allow to disappoint Parker as much as this was so clearly disappointing him. She didn't want to contemplate the possible scenarios as each was worse than one that had come before it. She thought again of the boy on the other end of the line.

"I'll do my best, Parker, but I don't want you to be upset if he doesn't come, okay? Your Dad loves you and he will come home if he can, but it doesn't mean that he doesn't love you if he doesn't come home. I know he would want you to know that and he wouldn't want you to be mad at him, either, okay? You can be sad and disappointed, but you can't be mad at him."

She remembered how many times she had been angry with her parents when they had first disappeared and she remembered how guilty she had felt over that anger as their absence had stretched longer. She didn't want Parker to ever feel any of those same regrets.

_He's not going to have any regrets because Booth is going to be home and fine soon enough._

"Just promise me that you won't be mad. Okay, Parker?"

"Okay," came Parker's muffled agreement.

She finished her conversation with Parker shortly after his agreement, taking the time to ascertain the details of his birthday party before hanging up. Forgetting the work that had so completely stolen her attention earlier, she left her office in search of her friend. She would definitely need help picking out something incredible for Parker. Something that would make him forgive his father for failing to attend his birthday party. Something that, in later years when Parker remembered his party, he would remember that he had been disappointed that his father had missed it, but he would also feel some pleasure that he had at least sent him his favourite gift.

Now all she had to do was come up with a perfect gift.

_A/N: Any ideas on a gift for Parker? I'm going to take a page out of the script of the show and leave that detail up to your own imagination. Feel free to post your thoughts or suggestions though. By the way, I truly appreciate all the reviews, so feel free to continue to send them. Thanks for reading. Scarlet._


	13. Chapter 13

_A/N: Well, I want to start by thanking everyone who has reviewed so far. In fact, your reviews have prompted me to post this latest chapter, even though the next chapter isn't completely finished… a few touch ups, but touch ups some times lead to complete re-writes and that's why I usually hesitate to post before the next chapter is completed. However, as I said earlier, your reviews have encouraged me to post quicker than my usual timeframe dictates, so I hope I don't get any flames if I don't update soon enough. If it makes anyone feel any better, Bones is back in just a few days - YEAH! For now, back to my fic…_

_**Chapter Thirteen - **_

Booth crouched behind a pile of old wooden pallets. The area surrounding the warehouse was littered with similar piles and sheltered behind each of them were members of the Patriots' organization. He was effectively responsible for coordinating the attack that was about to take place and he hoped that the success of this mission would bring him closer to home.

After the Ihsan incident, Booth had realized that he needed to control the Patriot activities or more specifically, those activities where they asked him to participate. He knew that he couldn't possibly take another life - especially in the manner that they seemed to like to operate - but he also knew that he couldn't refuse any assignment or he would risk being pushed out of the organization. That line of reasoning had eventually lead to him initiating his own investigations. He reckoned that if he came to them with something then he would be able to control what they asked of him. He also knew that by bringing them leads, he would be solidifying his position within the organization.

This line of reasoning had lead him to discover the warehouse that they currently surrounded. It was registered as a produce distribution centre, but after a convoluted trace through its multi-layered background and ownership, he had discovered that the produce industry was a front for its true purpose: a large-scale distribution network of munitions that supplied a number of terrorist organizations. He had been surprised when he had discovered it, amazed that there could be such a massive collection of illegal weaponry in the middle of a major city.

He had discussed his investigation with both Doug and Wilder, but neither had seemed too enthused with the idea of using the warehouse as a target. Jim Mandle had responded only slightly better than the other two men, but Booth had persisted.

"_This is an opportunity for the Patriots to make a strong statement. To let the country know that we are willing to do what the government can't - or won't - do."_

His impassioned argument had impressed Jim enough to get him to finally agree to Booth's plan. The true passion behind his argument had come from the strength of his conviction that he could execute the plan without any loss of life. It wouldn't take much effort to subdue the few sentries that watched the entrances during the late night hours when there wasn't any business being conducted. A few strategically placed explosives would follow after that and then the Patriots would scatter, leaving behind a devastated warehouse and a small dent in the ability of the terrorists to wage their war of terror on American soil.

He shifted slightly in his crouched position, relieving the ache that was starting to develop in his knees. His target strolled idly toward him, but he wasn't worried that he would be discovered; there was still a fair amount of distance between them and he could tell by the man's casual movements that he patrolled more for the sake of patrolling rather than the belief that there might be an actual threat. Checking his watch, he tensed, knowing that the time would soon come for him to make his move.

Mentally, he counted off the seconds, as, seemingly privy to the same game plan, the guard turned and began to head back toward the building.

_Three… two… one…_

He wanted to jump into action, but his body was well-trained and he maintained a half-crouch as he moved around the pallets and silently closed the distance to his target. Rising slightly as he neared him, he raised his gun, coming within a few feet of the man and still managing to remain undetected. A quick swing and the butt of his weapon connected with the man's temple. Booth caught him as he fell and dragged him to the side of the building. Plastic restraints secured the man's hands and feet, just in case, and he quickly fitted a gag over the man's mouth.

"Don't worry, buddy," he whispered needlessly. "I'll be back to get you before I leave."

He had instructed the other Patriots to do the same, arguing that the guards may not even know that they were employed by terrorists. He could only hope that they followed his orders.

Turning his attention to the door, he made quick work of the cheap lock and quietly entered the building. The smell of a myriad of fruits and vegetables greeted him as he entered. Resuming his half-crouch and hugging the exterior wall, he made his way to the rear of the warehouse. His surveillance had told him that the warehouse was deserted at this late hour, but he was still cautious. He didn't want to see his face framed in a surveillance camera photo on the evening news. Quietly, he continued to move further into the warehouse until the produce smell faded and was replaced by the unmistakable mix of metals and oils. His eyes slowly adjusted to the minimal light from the few exterior windows and he could vaguely make out the stacks of wooden crates and a few larger boxes. Reaching the nearest of the groupings, he pulled the explosive device from the satchel that he carried and pressed the device against the wall, slightly off-center of the main grouping of munitions. It's switch flipped with a barely audible click and the timer began counting down.

_Five minutes._

It was more than enough time for everyone to get out of the building and safely away. Too much time in reality, but he hadn't wanted anyone to think about leaving a guard behind because it might slow them down.

He twisted awkwardly - he had maneuvered himself into a pseudo-hallway that had narrowed where he had installed his explosive. Hugging the outer wall out of necessity rather than design, he headed toward the doorway. He passed the last of the munitions and entered the relative open space of the produce storage section. Straightening and increasing his pace, he neared the door. As he reached for the handle, he heard it. The sound of the silenced weapon was immediately followed by a searing pain in his thigh and he dropped to the floor.

_Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!_

Rolling on his side he began firing blindly in the direction of where the shot had originated. Additional shots joined his from the other areas of the buildings but he paid them no heed. He had more pressing issues to focus on. His finger squeezed the trigger repeatedly in an effort to provide himself with cover more than to actually shoot any of the people that were trying to shoot him. The clip was emptied and, half-dragging, half-crawling, he pulled himself toward the door as he searched for a new clip. Despite his frantic efforts, his fingers failed to find the extra ammunition that he knew was at the bottom of his satchel. Gunfire continued to fill the air around him.

_Where the fuck is that clip?_

His fingers brushed cool metal and he pulled its reassuring weight into the palm of his hand. Shifting to reload increased the pain in his thigh, but he forced himself to disregard it and focus on the immediate threat before him. Another thought surged forward in his mind.

_How much time has passed?_

_A/N: Thank you for reviewing and many thanks in advance for reviewing. I hope to put the finishing touches on the next chapter before the new season starts, now that the Tigers have put themselves completely out of the play-off picture. Until then, thanks again, Scarlet._


	14. Chapter 14a

_A/N: Please forgive Scarlet. She's a terrible author who was on an incredible writing streak and decided to post a cliffhanger, confident that she would have the next chapter finished in the next day or two - max three. Then three days became five, five days became a week, a week became two and then she had a semi-finished product but the cliffhanger wasn't resolved and she didn't want to post it either. Finally, she realized that the cliffhanger wasn't resolved whether she posted or not, so…_

_BTW, if you've forgotten where we left off, she would recommend reading the previous chapter. And Scarlet doesn't own any of this, so please don't sue her. Now, where were we?_

_**Chapter Fourteen - a -**_

The quiet research and study that typically described the activity on the central platform of the Medico-Legal Lab had been replaced by an organized chaos. Temperance moved from one examination table to another, supervising the assembling of the skeletal remains of each victim of the explosion. She had ordered Zach to closely examine each grouping of bones to ensure that they had been organized correctly. She hated working with another forensic team's efforts, but the FBI hadn't involved her team until after the remains had been isolated and categorized.

"Excuse me, Dr. Brennan."

A security guard approached her and she briefly shifted her focus away from the examination table.

"Deputy Director Cullen is waiting for you in your office."

"What?" The Deputy Director had never been to the Jeffersonian before and she was mildly surprised that he even knew where her office was located. She knew that it was his order that had resulted in the shipping of the evidence that was currently displayed on the tables beside her, but it still didn't explain his presence. He had always sent a low ranking agent with the case files in all of their previous cases. Never one to waste time on speculation when there was a direct answer readily available, she pushed past the security guard and strode to her office.

"Sir, you wanted to see me?"

Cullen turned from his inspection of the artifacts on her shelves when she spoke. She felt odd addressing him as 'sir,' but hadn't been able to decide on another, more appropriate title. 'Deputy Director Cullen' seemed entirely too formal and she was sure that it would be construed as offensive if she were to shorten his title or drop it all together. She could easily imagine that 'disrespect for authority' would quickly become his latest reason for denying her gun permit application if she had chosen to simply call him 'Cullen' and she still hoped that one day her permit would be approved.

"I did," he answered, holding out a manila folder before dropping it on her desk. "Here's the file that accompanies the evidence that your squints are currently squinting at."

"Thank you, but," she hesitated, hearing Booth's voice in her head advising against her usual bluntness. Disregarding it, she continued: "I don't understand why you brought it over. Or even why you had me come all the way up to my office when you could have simply handed it to me on the platform."

"Well, there's some important information that…" he began.

"Of course there's important information, but it still doesn't explain why you couldn't just hand me the file and be on your way. To be completely honest, I'm not sure why you didn't just send over one of your little helpers instead of coming yourself."

"If you would stop talking for a minute, I'll tell you." Cullen's frustration was clearly evident in his voice and posture. "I brought the file over myself because there is important information about this case that is not in that file."

"I don't understand. If it's important then why isn't it in the file?" He glared at her silently until she realized her mistake. "I'm sorry. You were saying?"

"Right. If you review the file, you'll find that the bodies that you have to identify were involved in an explosion at an old warehouse in Michigan. The warehouse was supposedly owned by a produce company, but the explosion suggests that something more volatile was stored there. The FBI needs you to discover what and who was there at the time of the explosion."

"Okay," she stretched the word out, making it sound like a question, but remained quiet otherwise. She waited for him to continue, since interrupting hadn't worked for her very well.

"All of that information is in the case file. The rest of this conversation is not in that file and highly classified… do you understand what that means?"

"Of course. I'm a very intelligent person, although it wouldn't take much of an IQ to decipher the meaning of rudimentary vocabulary."

Cullen rolled his eyes to the ceiling and muttered under his breath: "God, I have no idea how Booth put up with you for so long." Continuing in a louder, but condescending tone, he explained: "I know that you know the meaning of the words 'highly classified', but I just want to be certain that you clearly understand that you are not to discuss this information with anyone other than me." Cullen paused and she nodded her agreement, encouraging him to continue. He seemed to hesitate longer than would normally be necessary and took a deep breath before finally saying: "I need you to find out if any of those bodies are Booth."

"What?" Temperance felt as though a solid block had crashed into her chest and she struggled to breathe properly. She felt her body sway and closed her eyes, forcing herself to focus on her breathing and swallowed the emotions that clogged in her throat.

"Booth has been working undercover," Cullen continued, seemingly oblivious to the emotions coursing through her. "He was working on something that involved the warehouse that blew up - I helped him gather some information on it just a few weeks ago. I've been trying to contact him since I heard about the explosion, but he isn't answering his cell phone and he hasn't been to his office." He rubbed a hand over his head and then crossed his arms against his chest. "I don't want to believe the worst, but…"

She hated the way that he let his last sentence trail off. She would not believe that Booth was lying on one of her tables. He couldn't be. He couldn't have died and she hadn't known. She recognized her last thought as irrational, but clung to it just the same. He couldn't have died without her knowing. She believed that statement to be true. Now she would just have to prove it.

"Sir, I can prove that Booth isn't downstairs fairly quickly. I'll just have Angela compare his photo with each of the skulls. She should be able to finish that …"

"No, you can't. You can't tell Angela. You can't tell anyone. If Booth is still alive, he is definitely in the middle of something that he can't come up from right now. You could jeopardize his cover and put him in danger. You have to do it some other way. You can, can't you?"

"Of course, it just takes longer."

"Well, then, you better get started."

"Well, that's obvious, but before I can, I'm going to need a copy of Booth's medical records. How quickly can you get them to me?"

"I don't know, but I'm about to find out." Cullen began to walk out of her office, but stopped when he reached her side. "Come up with the answer that we're both looking for, okay?"

She nodded although she knew that she couldn't, and shouldn't, be prejudicing her investigation by predetermining its results. The results would be the same - Booth wasn't downstairs and she would cling to that truth until she could prove that it was true. Now she just had to find a way to get her friends to help her prove it without telling them what they were proving. She never was very good at lying.

_Oh god, Booth, please be okay. You have to be okay._

_A/N: The real Scarlet here. Please forgive me for letting so much time pass between posts. It's no excuse, but I had a severe case of real life with side effects that included a trip to Vegas. Don't ask:) Thankfully, I have the upcoming weekend off and should be able to get the second part of this chapter and the chapter after that completed and posted. As always, reviews are greatly appreciated and they really do keep me motivated - especially at times like these when my muse seems to have abandoned me. Thanks for reading. Scarlet._


	15. Chapter 14b

_A/N: Okay, I don't feel so bad for needing to post this chapter in two updates - it nearly is large enough to be two complete chapters. Thank you to everyone who has read this far and who (I hope) will continue to read. And, btw, it's not over yet, so I hope you plan to continue to read. Now, for a bit of technical detail, I overlapped this post with the ending of the last. I normally wouldn't but I felt justified since the chapter wasn't originally supposed to be posted in two parts. Oh, and I almost forgot - I don't own anything, especially not Booth and Brennan. The series would have been cancelled if I did… I would have had them having sex in the pilot;) Anyhoo… back to this show and where we left off…_

_**Chapter Fourteen b -**_

"I don't know, but I'm about to find out." Cullen began to walk out of her office, but stopped when he reached her side. "Come up with the answer that we're both looking for, okay?"

She nodded although she knew that she couldn't, and shouldn't, be prejudicing her investigation by predetermining its results. The results would be the same - Booth wasn't downstairs and she would cling to that truth until she could prove that it was true. Now she just had to find a way to get her friends to help her prove it without telling them what they were proving. She never was very good at lying.

_Oh god, Booth, please be okay. You have to be okay._

She shook the prayer from her head and tried to refocus her thoughts on something more productive. She glanced at the case file on her desk and knew that she needed to get back to examining the bones. Before she could do that though, she needed to know what she should be looking for. Closing her eyes, she tried to remember Booth's last visit to the hospital. It seemed like so much time had passed since that day, but she knew that if she just focused then she would remember the injuries that she had seen in his records then.

_Green stick fracture of the clavicle… scarring on the ribcage… 2 broken ribs… scarring on the soles of his feet…_

She opened her eyes. His feet. That would be their first elimination. The other injuries were too common and, until she had his medical records to match them up exactly, they wouldn't serve as good identifiers. However, not many people suffered significant injury to the bottoms of their feet. She grabbed the file from her desk and raced back to the platform.

"Hey, what did Cullen want?" Hodgins asked as she climbed the stairs of the platform. She ignored him and headed directly to Zach.

"Are these all of the victims? Are there any more coming?"

"No. And, no - not unless the forensic team at the site uncovers any new remains." Zach answered.

"Must be a pretty important case for Cullen to come all the way here," Angela commented.

"It is," Temperance briefly shifted her attention from her assistant to address her friend's comment before returning it to Zach. "I need you to examine each of the victim's feet, Zach - you're looking for scarring on the metatarsals in particular."

"You want me to examine the feet first? I don't understand, Dr. Brennan. Shouldn't we be sticking to the usual protocols? The skull, tissue markers, wound analysis?"

"No, Zach, I told you to look at the feet and I need you to do what I tell you." She realized that her voice had raised and a hint of the panic that she was desperately trying to tamp down inside her was evident even to her own ears. Softening her voice, she continued: "I'll help you and we'll clean the areas as we go. I'll start on this victim and you can start on that one."

"Brenn, are you okay?"

"Yes, Angela, I'm fine," she snapped. "Now if you don't mind, I have work to do."

"Sweetie, I don't think you're fine. In fact, I know that you're not fine. You're starting with feet, for god's sake. Now, what did Cullen say that's got you so worked up?"

"Cullen, what do you mean? What does Cullen have to do with anything?"

"Well, I don't know, but I know that whatever he said to you in your office must have been pretty bad, because I can't remember the last time I saw you bark at Zach like that."

"Ange, it's not… it's not bad. Now can you please let me focus on my work?"

"Does it have to do with the case?"

"Angela, just leave me alone." She regretted the words the instant they flew out of her mouth. "Look, I'm sorry, Ange. Maybe I am upset, but I really can't talk about it, so can we please just all get back to work."

Temperance worked quietly, diligently cleaning the dirt and debris from the soles of her victim's feet. She found a bit of peace in the routine and focused her attention on her efforts. Slowly, the bones were revealed and she grew more confident that these bones would give her the answer that she was looking for - this man hadn't ever suffered any injuries to his feet. At least not any that were significant enough to leave evidence on his bones. Examining the bones more closely convinced her that her initial findings had been correct.

This man wasn't Booth.

She looked up as she moved to the next examination table, noticing that Zach had also moved onto his next set of remains. She finished with her second examination and was preparing to move onto her third when Zach's voice interrupted the silence that had settled on the platform.

"I'm not sure what type of scarring I'm supposed to be looking for, but I might have found something."

"What? No. That's not possible. You're wrong, Zach."

She raced over to the table where he was working, forgetting her own set of remains for the moment. Leaning over the newly cleaned metatarsals, she frowned at the clearly visible scarring that he had found.

_This is not possible. Booth did not die without me knowing. _

She straightened, forgetting the evidence that confronted her.

_Booth did not die on me._

She felt the solid block smash into her chest again and this time, the pain nearly doubled her over. She struggled to take a deep breath.

"Did you hear me, Dr. Brennan? Is this the type of scarring that we are looking for?"

"Umm, I'm not sure."

"You're not sure?"

"I need Cullen."

"You need Cullen?"

She ignored Zach, not that his repetition of her statements served any purpose other than to demonstrate his confusion. She needed Booth's medical records and she needed them immediately. She began to leave the platform when Zach's next question stopped her briefly.

"Where are you going? Should I come with you?"

"No, Zach, I need you to finish examining the feet of the other victims to ensure that none of the others share similar scarring." She resumed her exit, pausing to give him a last instruction. "Once that's done, I want you to focus on the victim with the scarring and isolate any old injuries."

"What about the one's that were caused by the explosion?"

"I don't care about those," she called over her shoulder. "I want you to isolate the one's that have already healed."

"Zach, what's going on? And where is Brennan going?"

She heard Angela's question as she raced toward the doors. It was followed immediately by Zach's: "I have absolutely no idea."

Temperance briefly relaxed her white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel of her car, stretching out her fingers in an effort to relieve the cramping that had resulted from her foray into the snarl of Washington traffic. A trip that should have taken her somewhere in the neighbourhood of about twenty minutes was now pushing an hour and she was still a few blocks from the parking garage at the Jeffersonian. She had called Cullen as she had driven, but still had been forced to wait a few minutes before he had arrived in his office with the records that she needed. She had tried to glance at the medical records as she had driven, but quickly gave up, determining that Booth would best be served if she focused on her driving and returned to the Jeffersonian as quickly as possible.

As her car covered the last remaining blocks, she tried not to think about the task that lay before her. She tried not to think about the bones that were waiting for her. She tried not to think about Booth and what could be happening to him to keep him from calling Cullen. He had to know that Cullen would know about the explosion. He had to know that Cullen would be worried about him.

_So why hadn't he called?_

She refused to offer the obvious answer to her question and was pleased to be pulling into her parking spot, finally putting an end to her internal dialogue. She turned off the ignition and grabbed the records that had initiated her earlier departure. She strode quickly, at a near run, through the parking garage and into the Jeffersonian. The first person to greet her was Angela.

"Where have you been?"

"I had to go and get these records from Cullen."

"Records? Does this mean that you know who one of our victims is? This has to do with the feet thing, doesn't it?"

"Yes. No. I'm not sure, but I need to match these records to the injuries and then I'll know."

"Why don't you just give me a photo and I'll run it through the Angelator?"

"I can't, Ange."

"I don't get it, Brenn. You have medical records but you don't have a picture?"

"It's complicated. I can't reveal the identity unless it's a match. And before you ask, that's really all I can tell you. So please, let me get to work."

She saw the concern mixed with confusion in her friend's eyes and longed to lay all of her own concerns on Angela's shoulders. She needed a hug and an "I'm sure he's okay" but wouldn't jeopardize Booth's safety for her own peace of mind. Turning away from her friend, she focused back on her work.

Pulling the valuable x-rays from their file, she posted them on a nearby view box. Each image highlighted a different section of injured bone. A clavicle in one, the next three isolated different areas of the ribcage, and the next two offered images of his feet.

"Zach, did you find any evidence of scarring on any of the other victims?"

"No, Dr. Brennan. Just this one."

"Okay, tell me what you've discovered so far."

"The victim is a male of Caucasian descent in his early to mid-thirties, slightly greater than six feet in height. Based on initial examination, it's unclear how he died."

"The fire from the explosion didn't kill him?"

"It might have, but he was also shot. I found a bullet lodged in his femur and evidence of a second bullet impacting against the anterior curve of the fourth rib on his left side. If neither of these injuries killed him, they certainly prevented him from the leaving the building before it exploded."

"Oh god," Temperance closed her eyes against the images that Zach's words painted in her mind. She remembered Booth's last phone call and his strangled "I'm not dying" and suddenly the images in her mind had a soundtrack. A broken, cowering Booth bled freely on a cement floor and then a flash obliterated the scene from her mind. Her breath caught in her throat and she opened her eyes, replacing the mental images with reality, hoping that reality would give her a better result.

"Zach," she was finally breathing somewhat normally and returned her attention to the task at hand. "I thought that I told you to focus on the older injuries. What about the other injuries to his ribs?"

"There aren't any."

"Or his clavicle?" she continued, unhearing.

"His clavicle is intact and always has been."

"Are you sure?" Temperance could barely believe what she was hearing. She didn't know when she had begun to believe that Booth had died, but Zach's findings had taken her by surprise. She bent to examine the remains, verifying Zach's work. "It's not him."

"Who?"

"I can't say." She pulled the x-rays off of the illuminated view box, stuffing them back into their manila envelope. She began to leave the platform, intent on her next course of action.

"Where are you going, Dr. Brennan?"

"I'm going to find him."

"Who?"

She ignored the question, knowing that she couldn't answer it anyway. She knew that something was keeping Booth from contacting her and Cullen, that something had kept him from Parker's birthday party last weekend and she was determined to find out exactly what that something was.

She raced down the stairs from her office and was halfway out the door when Zach stopped her. "What am I supposed to do now?"

"Identify the remains. Pass all your information on to Cullen. He'll be especially interested in the bullet you recovered. Tell Dr. Saroyan that I'll call her from the road."

_A/N: Okay, so? Possibly worth the wait? Please let me know. All comments (good or bad) are welcome. Scarlet._


	16. Chapter 15

_A/N: A new chapter. Thanks so much for everyone who has reviewed, especially those who have stuck things out for the long haul and have reviewed so consistently. I was truly coming to the point where I believed that no one else (but me) cared about how my story was going to end. I was very flattered (to put it mildly) to receive so many reviews after my last update and I promise that I will respond to them each individually. In the meantime - thank you. By the way, I don't own anything, so please don't sue. And now, back to the show…_

_**Chapter Fifteen -**_

Blackness pulled at him and fire seared in his thigh, spreading outward and threatening to consume his entire body. Even as the fire surged, his body shivered and he struggled to make sense of the assault on his senses. A pounding sounded in the distance, but he paid it no heed, pulling his focus within to battle the pain and fire that ravaged his body. The pounding repeated several more times - too many for him to keep track - and still he ignored it for the more pressing demands of the abuse being visited upon his body.

An indeterminate amount of time passed but still he remained lost in his own private world of heat and pain. He barely noted the absence of the pounding that had become a permanent part of the earlier noises that had surrounded him. Briefly, a voice - or voices - seemed to penetrate the darkness and he struggled to open his eyes and face this latest threat. The brightness seared his corneas and he quickly shut his eyes, moaning despite the dryness of his throat.

The heat continued to consume him and a moment of conscious thought had him wondering why he hadn't yet succumbed to the flames that were searing his skin. That thought was immediately followed by another - that he'd already died and was now in hell. And in hell he would remain - until he had atoned for all the lives that he had taken. His sins would keep him in hell for all of eternity.

_If I'm stuck in hell, can I at least get a glass of water?_

As if by magic, a dark angel answered his silent plea and dribbled water over his dry lips. The soothing cool of the water soon dissipated as sharp fingers poked and icy hands slid over his heated flesh. Blackness pulled him back into its warm embrace and he entered its arms willingly.

Light seemed to pull him away from the darkness as icy fingers traced pathways through the fire in his limbs. Even the pain of their touch on his thigh was welcomed as they briefly smothered the fire that had flared incessantly. The blackness beckoned but he ignored its call; there seemed to be something that called to him from the light, a voice that he hadn't heard before. And, although it was further away, its call seemed to drown out the closer call of the darkness.

He told his leaden limbs to move but they failed to heed his order. Then the thought occurred that his body might be somehow chained to hell and instead, he focused his energy on opening his eyes. He should view his jail - and jailer - before he formulated an escape. Through sheer determination, he fought the pain of the brilliance of the light and opened his eyes. Flames surrounded him as he struggled to bring his bleary eyes into focus. Finally, the fire receded until the only source of red that his eyes could find was in the hair of the woman seated at his side.

"Bones."

His voice was barely audible over the sound of the blood rushing in his ears and he debated trying again, the pain of his parched throat arguing urgently against it. Then, seeming to feel his debate, his angel of fire turned her ice blue eyes on him.

"Booth, you're awake," she smiled as she spoke and he felt a warmth fill him that didn't burn.

"What…" he tried, but failed to ask the question that formed in his mind. In truth, several questions came to his mind at once. What happened? Where was he and how did he get here? Vague images of fire filled his mind.

_I was burned in a fire. My whole skin is burned to a crisp._

"Burn?" he managed through his parched lips.

"Burn?" A frown crossed her features. "What burn? Are you burning, Booth?" She pressed the back of her hand against his forehead and then his cheek. "Is your fever coming back? Because if it is, I'm taking you straight to a hospital. I won't let you tell me not to this time."

He had spoken to her. He had had a fever. A fever so bad that she had wanted to bring him to a hospital. And he hadn't let her. Why hadn't he let her?

_Images of a dark warehouse filled his mind. Sounds of gunfire filled the air. Searing pain surged from his thigh, but he ignored it as he forced himself to put weight on it. Stumbling away from the warehouse, he barely reached shelter before the world exploded behind him._

"Here, Booth, have some water." She cupped a hand around the back of his head and raised it as he drank from the cup that she held to his lips. He continued to drink until she pulled it away. "Not too much, okay?"

She lowered his head back to the pillow and her hand brushed his hair back from his forehead. He still had many questions and he wanted to pose them all to her, but he could already feel the pull of sleep on his mind. As his eyes closed, more memories floated through his mind.

_An agonizing journey back to his apartment. A vague, hazy memory of wrapping a bandage around his thigh. Then, a welcome blackness._

He opened his eyes. "Bones, you shouldn't be here. It isn't safe."

The effort of the words drained him, but he forced his eyes to remain open. She pressed a finger against his lips, shushing him.

"It's safe enough and besides, I'm not leaving. I don't care how many times you tell me to. You need me and I'm not going anywhere until you don't need me anymore."

Words of denial formed in his mind but he was asleep before he could voice them.

_A/N: Sorry that the chapter wasn't much longer. I was afraid that I might get lost in Booth's fevered mind too long and never find my way out. Thanks for reading. Please review. Scarlet._


	17. Chapter 16

_I know that many of you will be shocked to see an update to this story after so much time... I'm afraid that you might be disappointed, but I've had this little bit written for quite some time and couldn't leave without including it with the rest of Booth's journey. It's been so long that I don't even remember what I used to write at the beginning of these posts... I'm sure I'm forgetting some bit of legal something - but how about - "Please don't sue me. I don't own any of this. I'm not making any money off of any of this and I don't mean any harm..."_

_**Chapter Sixteen - **_

She laid the cool, damp cloth across his forehead and turned to wring a second for his chest. The few minutes of lucidity - his longest stretch over the past two days - indicated that his fever had broken, but she didn't want to give it a chance to return. Her fingers were icy from their constant contact with the cold water, but all it had taken was a moment's heat from his body to remind her that her suffering failed in any way to measure up to his.

She bathed his body and limbs and, satisfied that his temperature had not once again decided to soar, returned the cloths to the now room temperature water. Rising to empty the bowl that had become a permanent fixture at Booth's bedside, she barely managed to control the trembling of her hands as she made her way to the kitchen. The past two days had driven her to near exhaustion and she knew that she needed both food and sleep, but wasn't sure that either would be readily available in the near future. She would just have to keep going.

Knowing that she wouldn't find anything inside but looking anyway, she opened the refrigerator. A carton of milk that had expired the day that she had arrived greeted her along with the expected but inedible staples of margarine and mayonnaise. Opening the cupboard, she pulled out the last of the saltines and poured herself a glass of water.

_When we get back to DC, Booth, you definitely owe me a nice dinner._

She smiled at the thought, recognizing the promise in it. A promise that had replaced her earlier demands of the man. Earlier demands that were really more like threats.

_If you die on me, Booth, I swear I am going to kill you._

_You have to wake up, Booth, or I'm never going to sleep with you again._

Then, of course, there were the conversations that were really more like bargaining sessions.

_Okay, Booth, I give up. There is a God and he is all-powerful and all-forgiving. You win. I'll admit it if you just open your eyes._

_If you get better, I promise to never ask you for a gun again._

She had had a million silly reasons for him to wake up and she was sure that she had told him nearly all of them. The real reasons, though, she hadn't been able to speak aloud.

_You have to be okay, Booth, because I don't think I ever will be without you._

_You have to get better because I need you and Parker needs you and… that should be enough. Parker needs you and loves you. I need you and I love you._

In the end, she hadn't been speaking at all when he had finally opened his eyes.

Returning to Booth's bedroom, she drank the last of her water and washed the dryness from her mouth. Her patient seemed to be sleeping soundly and she knew that soon she would have to leave him briefly to replenish their supplies. She could hardly expect him to recover from his infection on nothing more than tap water and crackers. Sitting next to him, she laid the back of her hand against his forehead, reassuring herself that his skin hadn't once again overheated.

The softness of the mattress called to her as sleep pulled at her eyelids. She could feel the warmth of his body through the soft cotton sheets and she fought her exhaustion no longer. Stretching along the length of him, she pillowed her head against his shoulder and laid her palm on his chest; its reassuring rise and fall quickly began to lull her to sleep, helping her to forget the nightmare of the past days.

_The incompetent attendant at the airport ticket counter shrank away from the shriek in her voice. She would have done the same had she been able to form a reasonable thought beyond her need to get to Booth._

"_You don't understand," she lowered her voice enough so that only the fifty some-odd people waiting to board could hear her. "I said this is an emergency. I need to get on this flight."_

"_Look, ma'am," the peon began._

"_Excuse me, miss?" A man interrupted as he approached the counter._

"_I'm not finished yet. You'll just have to wait for your turn," she snapped in answer._

"_Oh, no, I'm not trying to cut in. I wanted to offer you my seat."_

_She looked at the man and took the time to notice his kind eyes and the sympathy that laced his features. She could almost hear Booth reprimanding her as the man handed his ticket to the much younger man behind the counter._

"_I don't know what to say," she said, truly not knowing what to say in the face of the man's kindness._

"_Oh, don't worry about it," he answered. "It sounds like you need it more than I do. My work can wait until the next available flight. It's the least I can do."_

"_Thank you, Mister…?"_

"_Don't mention it," he answered, taking her hand in both of his and their warmth combined with the warmth of his expression nearly brought her to tears. "I hope things work out well for you."_

_Without offering his name, the man had left and with him, the brief respite from her terror had left as well. Soon enough, she found herself in business class of an overcrowded plane, barely restrained from pacing the tiny aisle. The flight had been little more than an hour and a half but it had felt like an eternity for Temperance. She could only pass the time imaging what had happened to and how she would find Booth. If she had been able, she would have rather run to Michigan than fly. At least she would have felt as though she were doing something. Instead, she was forced to sit helplessly and wait and hope that she would get to Booth in time._

_Within minutes of landing at Detroit Metro airport, she found herself pushing her way through the slight crowd that surrounded the Hertz rental counter. Thankful for both her VISA and her lack of luggage, she was soon racing along the interstate toward the field office. The complimentary GPS and lack of traffic allowed her to complete the trip in less than half an hour._

**The End...**

Well - that's it… that's all I have. I know. It's far from finished, but I haven't even opened this file in months (save this one time) and with all the changes that have entered my life - and are about to enter my life - I know that the convoluted path that I had planned to take Booth on will never be written. So here it sits - unfinished. It seems as though I have left Booth in Hell:) I truly debated trying to quickly wrap this up, but I couldn't find it in my heart to do so. It seemed such a disservice for something that I had such great plans. It's better unfinished then finished poorly and I will stand by that forever.

To everyone who has been reading and reviewing, I thank you so much. And, I apologize to you as well - for not honoring my commitment to finish what I had begun. Please understand that I don't give up easily and if I thought there was even the slightest chance that I could finish this journey, then I would try. Unfortunately, I know that there isn't.

So - best of luck to everyone and to those writers who have the desire and dedication to continue to write, know that you have the my utmost admiration and respect.

Again, I thank everyone who has taken this incomplete journey with me. I can't thank all of you who have read and reviewed enough. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you! And, again, I'm sorry that I couldn't see this journey to the end.

Good-bye and good luck!

Scarlet.


End file.
